by Karen King
Then she hesitated. That sounded so formal, and Phil’s mother had signed off as ‘Aileen’, so she altered it.
Hello, Aileen, thank you for getting in touch. It was kind of you to think of us and contact me. We are both okay, thank you. Phil suffered broken ribs and bruising but is otherwise unhurt. He also has some amnesia, having forgotten the past two years of his life – our whole married life. We are hoping this is temporary. I’m afraid that he isn’t ready to meet you yet. I’m so sorry. Perhaps he will when he feels a little better.
She paused, wondering how to sign off, then settled for ‘all the best, Freya’. Before she had time for second thoughts, she hit send.
28
Phil
Damn. Why had his mother decided to get in touch after all these years? That was the last thing he wanted, dragging all that up again. As far as he was concerned, his family was dead to him. He never wanted to see or hear from them again. They had never cared about him, had wiped him out of their lives. Now, just because he’d had a bad accident, they thought they could come back into it as if nothing had happened. Well, there was no chance of that. His mother had a bloody cheek messaging Freya. Was she trying to poison his wife against him? He hadn’t liked taking Freya’s phone from her and blocking his mother but he’d had to do it. There was no other choice if he wanted him and Freya to be happy together. If he allowed his family back into his life, he knew without any doubt that they would cause trouble and ruin things for them. Especially his brother Graham. He hated Graham with a vengeance and was sure that the feeling was mutual. Graham had ruined his childhood – he thought he was so clever, sucking up to his parents all the while. Little golden boy. And they’d shown who they preferred, hadn’t they?
Memories of that last day flashed across his mind: the anger, the violence, the blood on his cheek. He hadn’t meant it to go that way but Graham was always prodding, pushing, taunting, smirking because he got better grades at school, showing off. They’d both got into university – Phil first, going to Leeds to study journalism, then two years later Graham had got into Oxford to study law. They were both home for the week, to celebrate their father’s birthday. Graham had bought him a new set of personalised golf clubs, whereas Phil had grabbed a present at the last minute, a cream cashmere scarf. It was a nice scarf, but it didn’t compare with personalised golf clubs in a leather holdall. Goodness knew where Graham had got the money from. Their father had been delighted with Graham’s present and tried to conceal his disappointment when he’d opened Phil’s, but they’d all seen it, especially Graham, who had looked at the scarf disdainfully and said, ‘Pushed the boat out, haven’t you?’
‘Robbed a bank, have you?’ Phil shot back.
‘I saved up. I wanted to buy Dad something special,’ Graham told him. ‘You should try it.’
Before Phil could retort, their father butted in. ‘Now, boys, it’s the thought that counts. I love both presents.’
But Graham wouldn’t let it go. He spent the whole week needling Phil, boasting about the internship he’d got with a local law firm, how he was going to be a barrister. Their parents had been all over him, so proud. None of them had wanted Phil to study journalism – it wasn’t a ‘proper career’ like Graham’s, and his father never stopped trying to persuade him to transfer to a business studies course instead. Phil had tried his best to ignore them all, to keep a smile on his face, not to rise. Until the night he went out with his mates, came home late, stumbling and crashing into the coat stand in the hall as he let himself in and found Graham waiting for him. Graham laid into him, demanding what time he thought this was to come home, accusing Phil of being selfish and waking their parents, and suddenly they were scuffling. Their parents, woken by the commotion, came down just as Phil punched Graham full in the face, knocking him flat on his back. His father shouted at Phil, prodding him, telling him how ashamed he was of him, and before Phil knew what he was doing, he had punched his father in the chest. He hadn’t meant to. It was as if all the years of feeling inferior to Graham, of living in his shadow, had finally broken him. His father clutched his chest, gasping for breath, and all hell broke loose. An ambulance was called for his father, and his mother told Phil to get out. Phil hastily packed and left.
The next day Phil returned, contrite and worried sick about his dad. Graham had been waiting for him again. Smirking, he said his dad would be okay, no thanks to Phil, and that their parents never wanted to see Phil again. When Phil tried to protest, Graham told him that if he ever showed his face again, both his father and Graham would have him charged with assault. They’d taken photos of the bruises that Phil was responsible for. So Phil left and never went back.
Anger at the injustice of it had bubbled inside him, growing into a festering wound over the years. He hadn’t meant to hurt his father but they had pushed him, all of them, until he couldn’t take any more. Why did everyone do that to him? Marianne had done it too, nagging, pushing, prodding – it was like a million pinpricks in his skin until one day it was a pinprick too much. He didn’t want his parents turning up now, ruining things. They were out of his life and he wanted it left that way.
He shut his eyes. He wished he’d forgotten those years instead of the two precious years he’d had with Freya. He loved her so much, had been over the moon when she’d agreed to marry him. Had they been happy these past two years or had she pushed him too? He wished he could remember. She was so cagey around him, as if she was hiding something.
He put his hand to his throbbing head. He wished he could rip it open and see what secrets were locked in there.
29
Freya
Phil was quiet and seemed on edge all evening. He barely spoke, his attention fixed on the TV but obviously not watching the detective drama that was playing out on the screen. Freya was quiet too. The message from his mother that morning, and Phil’s over-the-top reaction to it, hung between them even though he had apologised. Freya was troubled at how aggressively he’d reacted – and although she was trying not to show it, she was really furious about how he’d taken her phone. She couldn’t help but start to wonder if something else had happened between Phil and his family, something he hadn’t told her about, that had caused the fallout. And it had to be something massive for it to last all this time, for Phil to not even invite them to their wedding. Whatever it was, Phil was still angry and upset about it but obviously had no intention of discussing it with her. It was a strained, miserable evening, not helped by the fact that it started to rain so she couldn’t even sit in the garden and relax.
She lay awake half the night, listening to the rain pattering against the window and Phil snoring softly beside her. She couldn’t stop thinking about the events of the last few days, and whether she could trust Phil. He had been so angry when he had seen his mother’s message and she had seriously feared that he would be abusive again. Had she been right to take him back and give him another chance? Was he a danger to her? She felt like she was living with a stranger now that Phil had no memory of their married life together, and she had no idea how he would react to anything. She’d been about to leave him the night of the accident. And had almost left him a couple of months ago.
Memories of that day flooded back into her mind. They’d been out shopping, bought some pots and plants and had spent the afternoon putting the plants into the tubs and placing them around the small garden. Then their friends Jenna and Craig had phoned and asked them out for a meal; another couple were joining them too. Phil had been reluctant to go but Freya had talked him into it – she loved to socialise and they hadn’t been out for a few weeks. So they’d got changed and met Jenna and Craig at the Indian restaurant. It had been a fantastic evening, lots of wine, delicious curry, and the other couple, Soraya and Ishan, were really easy to get on with. Ishan was sitting opposite Freya, and when he and Jenna, who was a PR consultant, discovered that she worked in marketing, they soon all got into a conversation about different marketing strategies. The conversa
tion was buzzing and Freya was really enjoying herself. Phil seemed to be enjoying himself too, chatting away to Soraya and Craig about some of the articles he’d had published, but when they got into the taxi she saw that he was stony-faced. What the hell have I done now? she thought, annoyed. It had been such a lovely evening; why did Phil have to spoil it? ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘What do you think?’ he replied.
She replayed the evening, wondering what on earth had upset Phil. Had someone said something to him that she hadn’t heard? He could be a bit touchy, always thinking people were getting at him, or going over conversations looking for hidden meanings and insults.
‘I don’t know. I didn’t hear all the conversation,’ she said.
‘I don’t think you heard any of it – you only had eyes for Ishan.’
Oh God, here we go again. He was jealous because she had talked to Ishan – and Jenna – yet he had talked to Soraya and Craig all evening.
She decided not to say anything else until they got home, not wanting to have a row in the back of the taxi.
As soon as they got into the house, Phil threw his keys down on the table and poured himself a glass of whisky.
Uh-oh.
‘Don’t I get one?’ she asked.
He narrowed his eyes, glaring at her over the glass. ‘I think you’ve had enough, don’t you?’
‘I’ve had a couple of glasses of wine, and so have you!’ she retorted. ‘Don’t spoil the evening by being petty.’
‘Spoil the evening!’ He practically spat the words out. ‘You’ve already done that! Showing me up by looking all doe-eyed at Ishan and hanging on to his every word. Everyone noticed!’
‘Don’t be silly, I did no such thing. I was talking to Jenna too and we were all discussing—’
‘I know what I saw!’ He slammed the glass down on the table, slopping whisky everywhere.
‘Look, Phil, everyone was talking to everyone tonight. It’s what you do when you go out with friends. You were chatting away happily to Soraya and Craig.’
‘That’s because you, my wife, couldn’t be bothered to talk to me. I wasn’t going to let everyone know how much that upset me, was I?’
She was so mad at him then. He always did this. They went out with friends, had a lovely evening together, and when they came home he’d start moaning about something someone said or did – or even worse, something she’d said or done. She was sick of it.
‘I am allowed to talk to people, you know. You don’t own me!’ she screamed at him.
He moved so quick he was standing in front of her before she realised he’d even moved, his face so close to hers they were almost touching noses. ‘You’re my wife! Is it too much to expect you not to flirt with other men?’
The drink made her brave. ‘I was not flirting! I was bloody talking. Just like you were!’ she screamed, stepping back. ‘I’m not listening to this any longer. I’m going to bed.’
‘Don’t you dare walk out on me when I’m talking to you!’
She held up her hand. ‘Not listening.’ And she carried on walking over to the door.
Then she felt a sharp pain in her arm as Phil grabbed it and pulled her back. ‘I’m fucking talking to you and you had better listen.’
The sight of his bulging eyes, tell-tale vein throbbing in his forehead and red face snarling soon sobered her up. Shit.
‘Get off me!’ she shouted as bravely as she could.
Phil snarled and hurled her over to the other side of the room with such force that she fell against the wall, hitting her head. Everything went hazy. She was vaguely aware of Phil storming out of the kitchen and going up to bed. She crept over to the sofa, sobbing, wanting to get away but knowing that she wasn’t sober enough to drive. I’ll leave tomorrow. I’ll pack my bags and go as soon as I’m fit to drive, she promised herself, wrapping the throw around her and finally drifting off to sleep. The next morning, she woke up to find that she had an ugly bruise on her arm and the side of her face where she’d hit the wall.
That’s it. I’ve had enough, she decided, staring in the mirror at the bruise. She went upstairs to pack a case, fully intending to walk out, but Phil was full of remorse. Crying, he told her that he’d only meant to pull her back, to stop her walking off, but had slipped and accidentally hurled her across the room. He hadn’t realised she’d hit her head. He’d gone to bed as he didn’t want them to argue any more. He was so upset, so apologetic that somehow he convinced Freya that it was her fault, that she had spent most of the evening chatting to Ishan, totally ignoring everyone else, that Phil had tried to speak to her a few times and she hadn’t even acknowledged him. He’d felt shown up, he told her, sadly. He understood that Freya had had a drink and didn’t realise how much she’d been flirting. But all she’d had to do was apologise instead of arguing back and storming out of the room. He hugged her, said he was sorry, he loved her and would never, ever hurt her intentionally, but she had to stop antagonising him. It wasn’t fair to provoke him like that. He hated being left out – it was what his parents used to do.
She remembered feeling guilty then. She should have realised that when Phil felt that people were favouring her, felt that she was ignoring him, that it made his old insecurity rise up again. She should have included him, should have understood how rejected he would feel. So she apologised, unpacked her case, promised never to do it again. Phil apologised too, assured her of how much he loved her, promised he would never get angry with her again…
But he did, didn’t he? And already he was showing signs of anger again. Had she been right to give their marriage another chance? Was she in danger?
30
Freya
Freya woke the next morning with a heavy head. The rain had stopped, thankfully, and the sun was now shining again, but she didn’t really feel like working, so she had a lukewarm shower and made her coffee extra strong, in an attempt to liven herself up.
When Phil went into the shower, Freya quickly checked her phone, her hand shaking when she saw that she had another message from Phil’s mother.
Hello, Freya. Thank you for your reply, I appreciate it. I had hoped that Philip would agree to talk to me but I know how stubborn my son can be, and I doubt if that has changed in the twenty years since I last saw him. It is a big ask but would you meet me? I really would love to meet you, my new daughter-in-law. And there is something I would like to talk to you about – I didn’t want to put this in writing, preferring to tell Philip face to face. But his father, Charles, has cancer and I’m afraid it’s terminal. Although Charles is as stubborn as Philip, I know he would dearly like to see our son again, as would I. I don’t know if Philip has talked to you about that dreadful day when our family was blasted apart but I suspect not. I don’t want to write details in a message. Would you meet me so we can talk and see if we can find a way to reunite my family? Please. It would mean so much to me and especially Charles, who has such a limited time left, to see Philip again.
With love,
Aileen x
Freya read it again, slowly. Aileen sounded genuine, and desperate. Her husband, Phil’s father, was dying. How could she refuse the poor woman’s request to meet? And she had to admit that she was curious to meet Phil’s mother, and to learn more about Phil’s childhood. All she knew was that he had grown up in Northern Ireland. She had no idea when he had come to live in England or where his parents lived. Although they could well have moved since Phil left home. She wanted to know more about the row too, wondering if Phil had told her everything that had happened twenty years ago, and if there was some way she could reunite the family before his father died. She sat on the edge of the bed, mulling it over. With Phil not at work, and herself working from home most of the week, it was going to be difficult to meet his mother if she had to travel far, unless she pretended she had an urgent meeting to attend. She felt guilty about leaving Phil home alone at the moment – he looked so tired and vulnerable and complained that his ribs were
still sore and that he had frequent headaches – but she was relieved that she would be back in work tomorrow and Monday. She was desperate to get out of the house. The atmosphere was so charged, she felt that if she said anything wrong, it would lead to a massive row. She’d ask Aileen if she could meet her one afternoon next week; she could book it as a day’s holiday – she was owed enough.
The bathroom door opened and Freya closed the message down quickly, not wanting Phil to see it. He came out towel-drying his hair. ‘Are you starting work already?’ he asked.
‘I’m afraid so. I’ve got a few emails to answer and a graphic to design. I’ll do a couple of hours then we can sit in the garden and have a coffee if you want?’
‘That’d be good.’ He leant over and kissed her. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you too,’ she replied automatically, her spirits lifting. Phil looked a lot happier today.
As her laptop booted up she thought about Aileen’s message. She knew that Phil would be furious if he found out that she had gone against his wishes – make that instructions! – unblocked his mother and replied to her. But she was determined to meet Aileen and try to help her reconcile Phil and his father. She had to. She would never forgive herself if Phil’s father died and she hadn’t tried to help. And Phil, when he calmed down, would probably be glad that she had done so. He was trying to be a better man now, and twenty years was a long time to bear a grudge. She’d message Aileen later and arrange something.
She sat down at her desk and started work. The next couple of hours flew by and it wasn’t until Phil shouted up the stairs that he’d made her a coffee that she realised it was eleven thirty. She’d promised to join him for a coffee in the garden, she reminded herself. She was so engrossed in her work she could sit at the desk all day, but Phil needed company too – she had to stop and take a couple of breaks with him.